


Wanting

by Lyssandra_Med



Series: One-Shot [40]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Hermione Granger, F/F, Horcruxes, Praise Be to Doc, Ritual Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22180087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyssandra_Med/pseuds/Lyssandra_Med
Summary: Hermione had never wanted a friend. She had never desired an ear to listen to her woes.Andi knew it. Andi didn’t fight it.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Andromeda Black Tonks, Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Series: One-Shot [40]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429282
Comments: 6
Kudos: 61





	Wanting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drD/gifts).



The worst thing started it all.

Bellatrix was  _ gone. _

Gone  _ away- _

Gone  _ off- _

Gone fucking somewhere in the furthest ether to which she could not reach, or call, or pierce, or tread, or-

_ Or fucking  _ **_anything._ **

Much too far by half, in Hermione’s well-esteemed opinion. But her sister?

Andi?

Andi was another matter entirely.

Andi was still  _ here. _ Andi was still solid, still reassuring, still willing to exist in a world so devoid of light that Hermione thought herself more than once to have been loosed in darkness everlasting.

Andi was more than willing to extend an invitation, lend an ear to listen to her whine and cry about how unfair it all was for hours and hours on end. Andi, poor, dear Andi, who had lost so very much while never really having anything at all.

A terror she had soothed, been soothed,  _ would _ soothe-

If only they were here. If only  _ she _ were here.

But she wasn’t.

_ Andi was. _

\---

The first few nights spent huddled up within the House were loud crescendos filled up with errant and explosive emotion. Nights spent harsh and encumbered as she spilt bile and froth that had been trapped between her ears for days on end. The shouting, the stinging, the snapping barrier within her mind that had held back so much. It  _ hurt _ to finally talk about the Hell she had survived, it  _ hurt _ to realize that Bellatrix had broken her down into bits and pieces and shards and scraps that no longer resembled the original.

But Bellatrix had built her up, shaped her, smashed her to pieces again and _again and_ ** _again._**

A pretty little teapot, all dust and jagged edges.

Eighteen months was quite a long while when viewed in retrospect, a truth that Andi sent her spiralling towards. A War, a Manor, a black Raven at her window to bring shiny things and carve warm words into her skin. Pretty things, but each of them cost her so much.

Returning had meant Muggle medicine, which meant no help, which meant no balm, nothing to soothe the curses pressed deeply beneath her skin. No Magical variant could quell her pains, her fears, not unless she consented to losing all that she remembered.

Recovery meant being left with eighteen months of nothing. 

_ She wouldn’t dare accept it. _

_ Couldn’t- _

_ Bellatrix had cut her until she’d sworn not to, danced lights behind her mind until she gave in, then held her tight beneath her weight with bands of iron and chains of featherlight magic and a stare so pointed the needle had lodged itself within her mind and burned and hurt and snapped as it shocked her, showed her pictures as memories, as moments, unbound and free and flashing in repetition until she couldn’t  _ **_fight it until it burned it hurt it smashed all barriers the doors and wells all broken and poisoned until the Raven dropped shiny glass, pretty glass, glass that sparked and bit and pierced and broke and hurt, it hurt her again and again again again again-_ **

Except-

_ Andi _ calmed her.

_ Andi _ soothed her.

_ Andi, _ always waiting to grieve for her own losses.

_ Andi, _ so very similar, yet so very distinct.

_ Andi, _ just the barest shade of a woman still hiding from the ghosts inside her mind.

_ Bellatrix,  _ just different.

And Hermione could fix that.

\---

Fall progressed as it tended to, leading off into Winter’s chill all come too soon.

_ Cold to the bone- _

_ Lonely and silent- _

_ The snapping crunch of ice a fitting soundtrack to their moods- _

Fires stoked into burning the air, warming the shared space of Andi’s little home, heating their bodies as they lay in imitation of lizards grown fat on meat and grubs. Content, or something kin to it.

Hermione’s skin prickled from the closeness, her heart still aching for all their distance. Minds changed minds, rearranged each space, spent evenings in debate and discussion over loves long lost and theories offered. She and her Lost may have been called the Greatest of Their Ages but it was clear even then that Andi deserved that as well. Oddly, or not, she had never sought it out.

Too much publicity with being known, too much scrutiny with being  _ better. _

She was content, for at least a time, to play the role of simple Medi-Witch turned House-Witch, a bystander within their world.

Until suddenly she wasn’t content at all. Until Hermione managed to pull her heartstrings, and yanked out a fighter from beneath those dark waters.

Debates of soft words, harsh words, quieted whispers as though someone  _ else _ could hear them-

_ The Ministry’s inherent uselessness- _

_ The most practical applications for the potions Mad Alice drank- _

_ The best way to twist your wand if you needed a three-ounce lump of wood to turn out  _ **_just_ ** _ right- _

_ Which Muggle classics were really just poorly translated versions of more Magical variants- _

_ The best method one should use to dispose of a body, should one prefer not to end up convicted of murder- _

Topics. All random, all odd, all different. The heights of broad disciplines and useless trivia. Everything and anything. Teasing out bits of fire from beneath Andi’s breast until the woman could be worked up to frothing anger in a moment, or set to listen quietly for hours as Hermione waxed poetic on the difference in using an Avada or a Bombarda to disable an attacker.

If both methods ended in death, ended with one killed, then what was the difference?

Dead meant dead. It would just be a different flavour.

And so it was that in that home, that space, atop a couch that sagged too much towards the middle, Hermione broached the subject of Andi’s internment. Concern coloured Andi when the words spilt forth between them, a stiff board of a woman who seemed to have forgotten that she was being asked questions.

Until she broke and released the torrent.

Hermione knew how to feign sympathy, to spring forth with an emphatic need to comfort. An arm slung across quivering shoulders, a hand clasped within her lap-

The soothing scents of cinnamon and spice -  _ something all three of them shared _ \- that lulled them both to quietude. 

Crocodile tears and alligator smiles, words soft yet meant to cut. A habit and a constant.

Friday’s drinking led to spilling girlish secrets as if Andi were young and whole and normal again. Years spent within Black Manor, years spent living within a shadow -  _ but hadn’t she wanted to cast her own? _ \- that finally sloughed off her shoulders.

Saturdays spent waking to a thumping pain within their temples, a shared potion poured out between them, and the couch once more inviting. Mornings spent waiting on an owl to drop the post, mornings spent in search of coffee or tea, both of them wrapped in fluffed robes and heat. Both of them bathing in the scent of wood burning deep within the fireplace. Mornings spent eating toast and fruits, sharing their favourite and indulging with something sweet.

Saturday evening spent in debate, questions asked, answers given.

Sundays lazing, reclining into one another while reading books or sharing recommendations. Hermione’s legs sat atop Andi’s as they mused and mulled over disparate topics. Theories on power, theories on life, all the little things that ended up dragging ire up from Andi’s throat.

Hermione stoked her little flame, the ember growing and glowing and shining brightly amid the darkness.

Days soon turned into weeks, weeks on into months, all of it leading to-

_ A kiss. _

Sharp, biting, much more feral than she had been expecting.

**_Hungry._ **

Her body pulled up atop the witch’s lap, warm hands tracing the arching path of her neck to tangle back in curls of hair, growls and moans and whispered  _ need, _ all of it a tumble of burning air.

She had prepared herself for this moment, prepped and envisioned it, the first step, the first leap, the first moment where everything could tumble.

Nails dragged scratch marks down the length of Andi’s back, Hermione’s sides, tangling and tugging on curls and brown. Pinching, holding, pulling and pushing until no distance remained between them.

_ No division at all, they were one and the same, souls still separate; one tainted, one muddied, both cores burning brightly through their varied darkness. _

She was still small, not so much as to be uncomfortable or dwarfed as she straddled the older woman, but enough. Andi was stronger than her siblings had been, was more powerful than them both in different ways, and while Bellatrix had always taken offence at the idea of carrying her around, Andi held nothing against the action of walking them both to her bed, a space long cold and lonely.

_ Finally. _

\---

Becoming a nigh permanent fixture of Andi’s home was harder than becoming a welcomed visitor to her bed. Beds were soft, beds were inviting, beds were so very  _ cold _ when empty for too long. Beds were all too  _ quiet _ when no one lay atop them. Beds were  _ warm _ when those within moaned and writhed, when nails broke skin and scattered consciousness.

Beds were inviting.

Sex was inviting.

_ A universal invitation. _

Far less universal, and therefore much harder for Hermione to convince Andi of its need, was that of a duelling space.

Or, in Andi’s case, a hollowed-out space inside the basement that they could work in whenever the mood took them. Hard work to make, but easy enough once she managed to persuade Andi that she could do it.

_ ‘You’re younger than me, you shouldn’t-’ _

_ ‘And yet here I stand, hollowing this space and fucking you senseless. I’m older than you think and stronger than you know.’ _

Truthfully that was all that could be said on the matter. She was older -  _ three years two months fifteen days eighteen hours and a handful of lost seconds _ \- due to the magic of a now destroyed artefact. 

Even if none of them could see it, or would acknowledge it.

No matter.

No problem.

She would show them all with actions instead of words, with training and accomplishment instead of threats or half-baked notions. Case in point; the hallway dug into the basement.

Vanished dirt, ever-burning fires, stones laid down for a perfect surface. It was long, but not quite regulation. Close enough for them to keep their sparring personal and intimate.

The first invitation, once it had all been built, was a stinging hex and whispered word. The next was a hand ghosting just beneath the fabric of Andi’s thin robes.

Invitation turned to actions turned to staring one another down with eyes both steeped in coal instead of chocolate. Stinging turned to cutting turned to bashing turned to breaking turned to green bolts hurled with blinding speed. Spells cast with accuracy and no worry towards the end state.

They would dodge it or deflect.

They had no other choice.

\---

Revelry was something Black, something coated and dripping with ichor that smelled of iron. Questions were swallowed up by skilful fingers and eager tongue, words lost and turned to moans. Cracked earrings, cracked bands, cracked chains that leaked ink into her target’s soul at a pace necessary though annoying.

Impatient though she may be, speeding up the process would get her nowhere. It  _ might _ get her thrown out on her ass, or attacked, or charged, but it would not bring her desires to fruition. In the end, there would be time enough for everything.

Time enough for change.

For dark hair that burned near the roots, curls that built up and prevailed against all manner of potions or mussy spells. 

For teeth that seemed so eager to pierce flesh, to stake a claim.

For hands more willing to hold Hermione down by her throat, and wring a gasp of pleasure tinged with pain.

For kinks that unkinked the chains around their necks, for moments of  _ restraint,  _ of  _ softness, _ of  _ gentle, _ of  _ demure, _ to be banished evermore.

Still, Andi was not a suitable replacement.

Not until she held a knife and claimed a place upon sun-kissed skin, tongue laving with reverence in the aftermath.

Not until Hermione had a hand shoved between her legs, teeth possessing a captured lip, body claimed, being claimed, a soul so thoroughly ready to place itself beneath Black Madness.

Andi was close.

Not a replacement yet. 

_ But soon enough. _

\---

Waking up to find herself held down to a granite slab was one Hell of a way to wake up. Different, frightening, all the myriad things that sent her heart sprinting into a gallop.

The iron chains that held her tightly to the surface of the slab were rusting, corroding, and more than just a little bit upsetting to her eyes.

Old chains, just like her. Broken links held together with magic and willpower, just like her.

Poisoned.

_ Just like her. _

Worse still was the utter lack of shock; any kind at all. Adding onto that was the complete and utter acknowledgement that there was no method of escape, nor would she look for one. Hermione might have been smart, might have even been just as shrewd as a Snake, but she was far from infallible.

_ Far from being truly able to con a Black. _

Occlumency itself was a wonderful discipline of magic. But for someone untrained, who hadn’t studied and perfected it before even reaching Hogwarts… Well, in that instance it was more a fancy parlour trick than a foolproof method of locking up one's thoughts and plans.

Legilimency though? You either had the talent, or you didn’t. It wasn’t poking, it wasn’t prodding, it was diving in headfirst. You could learn it and still best many barriers, but if you were born into it? 

If you were born with Black blood?

_ Then you  _ **_had_ ** _ it. _

And though the finer points had remained a mystery for longer than she cared to admit, the whole of it came into view not long after the first moment that Andi had the young girl screaming her sister’s name as she impaled her on strong fingers. Apathy had been what led her towards this trap. Or perhaps it was simple curiosity? Perhaps the lingering taste for something  _ more _ than living alone in a home that no one wanted with vanished ghosts being her only company.

Or maybe she simply missed her sister.

Whatever the particular reason that drew her into this moment, she was here now and at Hermione’s mercy entirely. Whatever twisted and arcane form that managed to take.

“Oh. You’re up.” Surprise filled the voice behind Andi’s field of view, soon replaced with an even tone and strong words. “I didn’t expect that you would wake so soon. Must have misjudged the potion’s strength. No matter, I would have woken you up before I began anyways.”

Andi tilted her head, angling for a better look at wherever Hermione was, “And just why  _ am _ I here, Hermione?”

“Oh you know that already Andi, or at least you have an idea whose skeleton I’m attempting to raise. Do you  _ really _ need me to spell it all out?”

No. She didn’t. Still, Hermione’s voice might alleviate the slight ringing filling up her ears, or at the very least it could distract her from the lack of heat and naked tingling of her skin.

“Pretend I do.”

“Very well then.” Hermione’s voice faded off only to be replaced with the thunking sound of something metal, something heavy, something weighty being dropped down onto wood. “Horcruxes are finicky magic, you know? At best they’re imprecise copies of one’s soul at the time it was split, at their worst they’re semi-conscious fragments that actively work towards their own ends. Did you know that Voldemort’s pet, Nagini, was once a human woman? A girl practically, and then the next moment a monster.”

Andi hadn’t. She had heard the name whispered whenever her elders talked about the First Wizarding War, had read it in personal journals passed down by older family. But she hadn’t  _ known. _

The girl -  _ woman _ \- standing somewhere behind her seemed to accept Andi’s continued silence for what it was.

“She was a Maledictus. The curse shouldn’t have managed to erase her mind, no matter however long she wandered on her own before Voldemort found her. It would have erased her body but left her mind intact. And after Voldemort made her into a Horcrux, he could control her. He was able to, against all reason I can fathom,  _ ride _ her. Now, who else do we know as the vessel of a Horcrux?”

An answer, voiced this time.

“Harry.”

Hermione clapped her hands, “Exactly! Harry  _ fucking _ Potter. Boy-wonder himself. Now, why couldn’t Voldemort control Harry? Why didn’t he just jump on into him and walk our Saviour off a cliff? I mean, I’m not the evil mastermind here but it seems like dashing him to pieces would have been just a mite bit harder to recover from than a spell that never actually damages the body of whoever it kills.”

Meaning…  _ nothing. _ Random history lesson? Sure. Informative? No.

Hermione continued, “I figured out that if his hold was strong enough with Nagini, why couldn’t I improve on it? And if I managed to improve on it, why couldn’t I just duplicate it?  _ And, _ if I could duplicate it…”

Well then. That was certainly different from the picture Andi had seen in her mind so many weeks ago. Similar vein -  _ she was still trussed up _ \- to the original, but different. Fertility ritual and Binding, this was not.

“Oh.”

Dark eyes so very near the colour of her dear sister’s passed into view above Andi’s place upon the slab. Hermione jittered side to side, manic smile and curls so dark and dangerous wavering in the air.

“Yes,  _ oh. _ Now then, just you relax, alright? I’ve not done this before so we’ll need every ounce of luck and preparation that we can get.”

\---

Becoming.

It was the process of coming to be  _ something. _ The process of entering into a new state. Flattery towards one’s personal appearance. 

She  _ became _ the new amalgam.

She  _ became _ some mixture of herself, some mixture of Hermione, some mixture of all the recollections of her sister.

She  _ became _ what she had been made, all the adjustments and little personality shifts.

She  _ became _ what Hermione had wanted since their very first night spent together.

Hermione had never wanted a friend. She had never desired an ear to listen to her woes.

Andi knew it. Andi didn’t fight it.

Why try, when Bella’s clothes had always fit her oh so well?


End file.
